“Close your eyes!” Hassan cried over the shriek of the flash bomb. Behind his eyelids, the world was lit in white.
He felt Hector—he assumed it was Hector—reach out and grab his shoulder as the flash bomb faded. Hassan blinked open his eyes and saw the surrounding Paladin shielding their vision against the fading blast. But it was too late for them—the flash bomb had done its job. Even with their Graces, the Paladin couldn’t see as long as the flash bomb’s effects lingered. It would buy Hassan, Hector, and Jude a few minutes—long enough to flee the amphitheater.
“I don’t get it,” Jude said, looking around. “Beru was supposed to be here. Where did she go?”
Hassan shook his head. “I don’t know. We need to get out of here and come up with a new plan.”
“You!” Hector cried, striding over to one of the Paladin who was stumbling to his knees, clutching his face in horror. Hector grabbed hold of his collar and jerked him back to his feet. “Tell me where she went.”
“Oathbreaker,” the Paladin spat. “What did you do to us?”
“Tell me where the girl is, or I swear on my broken oath I’ll throw you into the sea.”
“I would never tell you,” the Paladin snarled.
Without missing a beat, Hector shoved him toward the edge of the cliff.
“Wait, wait, wait!” the Paladin said, stumbling, hands grasping out into nothingness. “She and the Pale Hand escaped. They took the Prophet hostage.”
Hassan glanced at Jude, who looked just as confused as Hassan felt.
“Let’s get to high ground,” Hassan said. “Maybe we can spot them.”
Jude and Hector sheathed their swords, and Jude led them up through the stands and into the tunnel that connected the amphitheater to the central hexagonal courtyard of the citadel. Hector and Jude took up the front as they hustled through, on the lookout for more Sentry and Paladin.
“Stay here,” Hector said to them. He sprinted past the mouth of the tunnel and bounded smoothly up onto the wall that surrounded the courtyard.
“Wait, Hector!” Jude cried.
Hector froze on the wall and Hassan spun to see what Jude had spotted. Down the walkway that branched out from the courtyard toward the citadel perimeter, a group of Witnesses strode briskly toward them, flanked by more Paladin. Cuffed between the Witnesses was the god-girl and her sister.
Jude seized Hassan’s arm, dragging him back into the tunnel, out of sight. He unstrapped the sword across his back and handed it to Hassan.
“Be ready,” was all he said, before he disappeared around the corner.
Hassan waited in tense anticipation, clutching the sword tight.
A moment later, he spotted a blur of movement and heard the scrape of a sword unsheathing. Jude.
Hassan raced forward, unsheathing his own sword.
“Get them!” someone cried as Hassan launched himself into the frenzy of Witnesses. Jude and Hector were barely visible, just blurs of movement, their speed enhanced by their Graces.
But very quickly, Hassan realized they weren’t the only ones using enhanced speed. The Witnesses were, too. As if, somehow, they were Graced.
A Witness seized hold of Hassan. Hassan stumbled back, jerking to break his hold. With a flick of his arm, the Witness tossed Hassan back against the wall with unnatural strength.
Hassan collapsed, the wind knocked out of him. There was no mistaking it—the Witnesses were Graced.
The Witness didn’t bother with Hassan again, instead whirling off to where Hassan could see Jude and Hector fighting their way toward the god-girl and her sister. A circle of bloody Witnesses surrounded them.
Hassan stumbled to his feet, still dizzy from the impact, and raised his sword as he launched himself back into the fray. He ducked under another Witness’s attack and parried a blow from a Sentry before skidding to a stop in front of Jude and Hector, who had finally reached the sisters.
“Hector, what are you doing here?” the god-girl demanded as Hector rushed toward them, letting Hassan and Jude take point against the Witnesses still closing in.
“Rescuing you, what does it look like?”
“We didn’t need you to rescue us,” said the god-girl’s sister, Ephyra. “We have a plan.”
Hector glared. “Yeah, and how’s that going?”
“We need to move,” Hassan cut in tersely. “We’re exposed here, and the flash bomb has already worn off. They’ll be sending in reinforcements.”
The Paladin in the amphitheater wouldn’t be far behind.
“Flash bomb?” Ephyra demanded. “That was you?”
“We had a plan,” Hector said.
“We had a plan,” Ephyra spat. “And you messed it up.”
“Stop it, both of you,” the god-girl chided. “We still have a way out.”
“If someone will get this stupid thing off me!” Ephyra cried, shaking a metal cuff on her wrist.
Hassan glanced at Jude, and Jude gave a slight nod before lunging to drive back another Witness. Hassan retreated toward the girls, and Hector wordlessly took up a wider perimeter, buying them time. Hassan seized Ephyra’s wrist, turning the cuff over.
“It needs a key,” Ephyra said, gritting her teeth, “which we don’t have. You’re going to have to break my thumb.”
Hassan blanched at the prospect. “Maybe if we—”
“Ephyra,” the god-girl said in a concerned tone.
“There’s no time—just do it!” Ephyra demanded hurriedly. “I can heal. Get it off me, and we can get out of here.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Hassan spotted more Paladin choking the entrances of the courtyard. They were surrounded by enemies, and escape was seeming a more and more distant prospect. Ephyra gripped her sister’s hand with her uncuffed one and held the other out to Hassan.
“Do it!” Ephyra yelled, panic making her voice brittle.
Hassan seized her thumb and wrenched it toward her palm.
Ephyra let out a shriek of pure agony that rattled Hassan’s bones. Cringing, he tugged the cuff off as quickly as he could. Ephyra shouted a very long expletive as the cuff pulled free. She stumbled, as if she was about to collapse, and her sister caught her around the waist.
“I’m fine,” Ephyra wheezed, sounding very much not fine. She breathed out hard, eyes still closed, and went still, her uninjured hand curling into a fist.
Hassan glanced at her sister. “Is she all right?”
Her sister shushed him. “Give her a moment. She needs to concentrate to revive him.”
Revive whom? Hassan wondered. But this was not a time for more questions. He whirled back to the encroaching Paladin, flinging himself into the fray to help Jude and Hector defend their position.
But if Hassan had struggled against the newly Graced Witnesses, he was no match for experienced Paladin. They were on Hassan before he’d even realized what had happened, three Paladin surrounding him. Hassan dodged one strike, spinning to parry another—leaving him completely open to his third opponent.
“Hassan!”
Before he could blink, Jude was there, blocking the blow. Heart thumping wildly, Hassan felt someone seize the back of his coat, tossing him to the ground with ease. He hit the stones hard, and with a sharp grunt he swung wildly, desperate to defend himself. The Paladin kicked the sword from Hassan’s hand, and then all Hassan could see was the swordsman’s dark blue cloak and his menacing eyes as he drove the point of his blade toward Hassan’s chest.
“Stop!” a cold, authoritative voice echoed through the courtyard. The Hierophant’s voice.
Hassan let out a shaking breath as the Paladin’s sword stopped inches from Hassan’s chest.
He followed the voice up to the perimeter wall and saw the Hierophant flanked by six Witnesses, including the one who had burned out his own Grace.
“Lower your weapons,” the Hierophant commanded.
To Hassan’s surprise, it was the Paladin who obeyed, stopping where they were and turning to face their master.
Hassan’s head pounded. What was the Hierophant up to? He glanced at Jude and Hector, who held themselves taut, ready to fight or run.
“You have foolishly tried to defy me,” the Hierophant said, his tone seeping with disappointment rather than outright anger. “You will surrender now, or your friends will pay the price.”
From behind the Hierophant, more Witnesses arrived, dragging prisoners with them. They shoved the first of them up against the parapet. It was a boy who looked even younger than Hassan, his dark hair mussed and his face bloodied. Hassan didn’t recognize him, but he heard Jude’s sharp intake of breath.
The second prisoner was shoved against the parapet, and Hassan felt the blood drain from his face. He knew those eyes, deep golden brown and shining with defiance. Those slender fingers had touched him, those bloodied lips had kissed him.
“No,” he heard himself say. “No, no.”
It wasn’t possible. Khepri was—She was in Nazirah. She couldn’t be here.
But the truth was in front of him. Khepri had never escaped the ruins of the lighthouse. When the Hierophant had taken Hassan and Arash, he must’ve taken Khepri, too.
This whole time she’d been a prisoner. And Hassan hadn’t even known.
His shock sharpened into terror as he noticed the blade against Khepri’s throat.
“Surrender,” the Hierophant commanded again. “Or they die.”
Khepri’s gaze met Hassan’s, fear and ferocity in her eyes. The blade bit into the underside of her jaw, drawing blood so bright Hassan could see it from twenty paces off. She shook her head. But Hassan was already raising his hands in surrender.
Ahead of him, Jude laid down his sword.
Hector glanced at the two of them, and then back to the Hierophant and his hostages. Blowing out an enraged breath, he let his sword clatter to the ground, too.
Hassan felt someone grab him from behind, yanking his hands behind his back and securing them. One by one, the Witnesses led them out of the courtyard.